


A Measure of Comfort

by keptein



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: M/M, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/pseuds/keptein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He deserves some small measure of happiness." - Agron</p><p>Spartacus finds comfort, if not happiness, in Agron and Nasir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Measure of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Set during s03e08 (the night before the Agron/Nasir kind of-break up), although there are no explicit spoilers. First time writing smut as well as anything within Spartacus fandom, so pretty much all feedback is very much appreciated! Crossposted to [my tumblr](http://keptein.tumblr.com).

He comes to them in the black of night.

They welcome him silently, for he has no excuse any longer, cannot blame it on a measure against cold.

(Though it did not start with the cold.) They welcome him with open arms, because what else can they do? Nasir has seen the Roman woman, Laeta. He knows what is yet to pass – but the future is not the present, and the present is where he is, cradling Spartacus between himself and Agron.

“Do not think – ” Spartacus starts. He stops, falls silent. They wait - for an excuse, for a command, for a lie. Spartacus says nothing. Eventually Nasir can feel him ease, tensed muscles soothed by the gentle stroke of a hand.

Over Spartacus's head, Nasir meets Agron's gaze. The devotion in them momentarily stills his own hand from where it is curling around Spartacus's arm, but a question lurks in them as well, as it does on all nights like this. Agron would lay down his life for Spartacus, would give up everything his to give, but he hesitates in giving this, and Nasir loves him for it.

Yet Nasir is not immune to Spartacus either, to the terrifying inspiration and loyalty he wields better than any blade, and he cannot say anything but yes.

Agron's right hand moves down, down, while Nasir's left hand moves to unbuckle Spartacus's vest. Spartacus lies there silently, except for his harsh breathing. Nasir can feel the hardness of his body pressed up again the length of his own, can feel the tensing of muscles as Agron's hand begins to move. Nasir pushes away Spartacus's vest, his movements slowing as he looks at Agron, at the furrows between his brows, the look of concentration in his eyes.

Were he a different man, Nasir suspects he would be jealous of Spartacus, of the lengths Agron would go for him. Theirs is a bond forged in the arena, a code hidden to all who have not fought with gladii for the crowd's amusement.

Agron lifts his head and leans forward, and Nasir moves up on one elbow to meet his lips above Spartacus's head.

There is a desperation in Agron's kiss; a confession there that Nasir does not want to confront. His brow tenses and he leans further forward, seeking deeper entrance into Agron's mouth.

Spartacus moans, deeply and brokenly, and when they lie back down he grips Nasir's hand from his chest. Nasir intertwines their fingers and does not mind when Spartacus clenches his hand tighter, Agron's hand moving faster despite the undesirable angle.

This is about Spartacus, not either of them, yet he is not the only one to draw a measure of comfort from this. Nasir is reassured to know their rebel god still knows how to be human, knows how to let his shoulders lie unburdened with the weight of the world, even if it is but for a moment.

Spartacus shouts, one, final time, his hips jerking forward, and his sweaty forehead rests on Agron's shoulder for an instant. Nasir cannot see his face until he turns to lie on his back, forearm pressed against his eyes as he shakes.

Agron turns away, unable to see his great leader so absent inhibition, but Nasir does not begrudge either of them this – his arms come up around Spartacus, hiding his face so the man is free to sob like a child, choking out the names of people he has wronged, of people whose fate he regrets, whose fate he carries every day.

This carries on for too short a time, until Spartacus forcefully locks down his emotions, until he is ready to lead without cracking under the blow of doubt, of faith and fate and choice.

He does not stay until morning – he never stays until morning. And when he leaves, Agron pulls Nasir closer until they are breathing the same air, and they do not move for several hours.


End file.
